


Skywalker Is A Slave Name

by Demi_Fae



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Ill add tags as i add chapters, Tatooine Slave Culture, anakin's childhood as a slave: discuss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demi_Fae/pseuds/Demi_Fae
Summary: There are many things that slaves teach their children, things that the desert wears into the bones of its own.Anakin remembers being a slave. He remembers their customs, their stories, their languages. Though he may be free now he was still raised a slave, and some things he can't forget no matter how much he wishes he could.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 44
Kudos: 374





	1. Hand That Feeds

**Author's Note:**

> Assorted slave headcannon stories, by me. Timeline inconsistent and/or nonexistent- AKA you could probably read it as everything being set in the same universe, but it would probably make more sense if you read them as unconnected one-shots.
> 
> Will be updated randomly, whenever I write more.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can tell, sometimes, how hard a hit is going to be if you pay attention. Mom always told me the ways to make a punch hurt less... But its okay! I knew you wouldn’t hit too hard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ones for the angsty server that keeps just hitting me with a train of slave Anakin Skywalker feelings,,,,,,,,,, y'all live to make my heart ache and I adore you for it
> 
> Title technically comes from the saying "Don't bite the hand that feeds you," meaning don't hurt someone who's helped you in the past, but also consider: Being hurt so much that biting seems to be the best option to protect yourself.

Obi-Wan had a headache. 

That in itself was fine, he was used to that. After years of learning under Qui-Gon Jinn, notorious maverick of mavericks, Obi-Wan had gotten used to headaches.

Anakin had been arguing with him about something or other- classes, maybe- on the way to their apartment while Obi-Wan’s headache grew. Obi-Wan was trying to pay attention but the pain in his head distracted him. He’d lifted a hand to rub at his head, and that’s when Anakin finally fell silent. 

It was a simple movement, one Obi-Wan didn’t even think about anymore. Pinching the bridge of his nose was just one way to express his frustration with his former master’s antics. The habit had stayed with him when he’d taken Anakin on as a Padawan, the little boy sometimes just as much trouble as Qui-Gon had been. 

It was just habit, is what he would try to comfort himself with later, to wash away his horror. 

~~He’d fail.~~

Obi-Wan almost hadn’t caught it. Anakin had flinched slightly and froze in the middle of the hall as he tracked the movement of Obi-Wan’s hand, now only half-raised. 

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, raising his eyebrow. “Are you feeling alright?” 

Anakin nodded, still focused on Obi-Wan’s hand. His eyes didn’t wander an inch from it. 

“Padawan?” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow as Anakin finally looked into his eyes. He smiled wryly, as if telling a joke. ~~He wished it would have been.~~ “Is there something on my hand?” 

Anakin shook his head and Obi-Wan frowned. The little boy was usually so excitable and talkative, to see him now, so still and silent, felt wrong. His instincts screamed that something was wrong, but he couldn’t guess what for the life of him. “Anakin, tell me what you’re thinking,” he commanded. 

“I was just preparing, Master,” Anakin glanced down and then up at Obi-Wan’s face before landing back on Obi-Wan’s hand. It always came back to the hand. Obi-Wan frowned. 

“Preparing for what?” 

“Sometimes you can tell where a hit is going to be if you pay attention. Mom always taught me the ways to make it hurt less.” Anankin mimicked moving his head like he’d been punched, showing how he'd make it ‘hurt less’. Obi-Wan went cold. There was a pit growing in his stomach making him feel sick, the pain in his head all but forgotten. 

“But it's okay! I knew you wouldn’t hit too hard.” The ten year old bounced on his feet slightly. He was still preparing himself, thinking that Obi-Wan was going to slap him, hit him- bruise his face and hurt him-

There weren’t any words in the world that could have made Obi-Wan feel better at that moment. How many times in the past year had Anakin thought he was going to be punished for something, how many times had Anakin thought he was going to be hit? 

Obi-Wan swayed on his feet, and this time it had nothing to do with his aching head and everything to do with the pit in his stomach. It was only a few moments, but far too long before Obi-Wan noticed that Anakin hadn’t moved from his ‘ready stance’, glancing warily at the hand still (still!) outstretched between them. Obi-Wan snatched it back and held it to his chest like a snake waiting to strike at any moment. Anakin was too still at the sudden movement, almost like he was expecting it-

“Oh. Oh, no, Anakin, no-” Obi-Wan couldn’t force the words out of his mouth. He dropped, kneeling on the cold ground. He wanted to reach toward Anakin, the boy now in his custody, the one he was supposed to take care of. He wanted to grab him and hold him tight, hug him and never let go until he understood that Obi-Wan was never, ever going to physically harm him. 

“Anakin, I would never lay a hand on you, _never.”_

Obi-Wan watched him carefully for any reaction. Anakin looked skeptical. _Have other people promised the same thing? Have they said they wouldn’t hurt Anakin- hurt a child- make him trust them only to turn around and do the very thing they said they wouldn’t? How many times must this have happened for Anakin to not trust the words of those who are supposed to care for him?_

“Anakin, did you… do you think anyone here would ever hurt you? Physically?” Obi-Wan knew that he didn’t always like the other Masters and Knights in the Temple- even some of the padawans- but surely he knew that they wouldn’t abuse him?

“Well, sure. It’s how the Masters would discipline slaves back on Tatooine- punches, kicks, lashes-”

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he could hear any more. His chest grew tighter with every word Anakin spoke as his eyes blurred with tears. He wasn’t sure if he interrupted Anakin or not, but the words seemed to pour from his throat-

“Anakin, have you ever… have you ever been whipped? Had lashes?” 

Anakin swallowed and shrunk in on himself. He turned around, back to Obi-Wan, and slowly shrugged off his tabards. Anakin had never changed before Obi-Wan before. He’d gone to great lengths to never change in front of anyone, which Obi-Wan had let slide in all the chaos of being knighted, losing a master and gaining a padawan in the span of a day or two. 

Obi-Wan was morbidly curious. Would his back be a roadmap of the slavery Anakin was raised in? Would there be scars on top of scars? Too many to count?

Before long Anakin’s top half was bare. His back wasn’t layered in scars, like Obi-Wan had feared, but there were still far too many for a child. One particular wound stretched from Anakin’s right shoulder to left hip. Only Obi-Wan’s hand around his own arm held him back from stretching out and tracing the raised skin. 

Obi-Wan wanted to tear apart the one who caused the scars on this child’s- _his_ child’s- back. He wanted to scream, yell, tear down the walls around him- before he released it into the Force. He breathed out, in, trying to let go of every bit of anger and hate inside him. 

“Master?” 

Obi-Wan flinched back like he’d been shot. “Don’t- don’t call me that,” he barely managed to get out. 

“But you’re my master, aren’t you?” 

“No, I am, yes, but-” Obi-Wan swallowed and took a breath. “Anakin, you know that I do not own you, right?”

“You don’t? Qui-Gon won me in the podrace, didn’t he? And so when he died, I’d be yours now-”

Obi-Wan was trying his hardest to stay calm, to not have a breakdown in the middle of the hall. But it seemed that every word that came out of Anakin’s mouth pushed him further and further. 

“Anakin, no- I- Jedi don’t- They don’t own people. When Qui-Gon- When he won you in that race, it was to free you. You aren’t- You _are not_ a slave and you _never will be_ again.” 

Anakin hesitantly shrugged back on his clothes and turned around. His eyes were wide as he asked, “You promise?” 

Obi-Wan’s heart broke for what felt like the third time. “I promise, Anakin.” 

“...Okay.” They stayed there for a moment, both taking in all that had been said in the past few minutes. _Had it really only been that long? Since it felt that Obi-Wan’s world had been turned in on its head? There wasn’t anything that could make him feel worse than he was now-_

“Mas- Obi-Wan? ...Does that mean that I can have my chip removed?” 

...Obi-Wan might have thought too soon. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He felt like he was fighting a losing battle with his sanity. “Your chip?” 

“...The slave chip?” 

“What slave chip?” 

“All slaves have them, they’re inserted before they’re sold off to their first master after being caught, or when they’re born. It tracks them so if they run away- if they go too far-” Anakin looked so small, and so scared. “I don’t know where mine is, but I haven’t blown up yet, so I’m pretty sure it's deactivated.”

“Pretty sure?” Obi-Wan mumbled to himself, frantic. Anakin continued on. “But you said I’m free now, so can it… Can it be taken out?” 

Obi-Wan stared at Anakin’s face. “Of course it can. We can go to the Healers right away- we can go to them right now, if you want.”

“We can?” And oh, there was so much hope in his face but also so much wariness. Obi-Wan could tell that Anakin trusted Obi-Wan, trusted him far more than what he felt he should- and that he didn’t want to let his hopes get up, in case they came crashing back down again. 

“Yes, we can,” Obi-Wan whispered. 

They sat in silence for a few moments, minutes, an eternity, before Obi-Wan spoke again. 

“Anakin?” He asked the little boy before him, who had seen far too much for his age. “May I hug you?” 

Anakin looked around nervously at the empty halls, like he was expecting another Jedi to come around the corner at any moment. It struck him, then, how much more comfortable Anakin seemed being hurt than receiving affection. 

“If that’s alright?” He asked again. When Anakin nodded hesitantly, Obi-Wan made sure all of his moves were slow and easy to track. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and brought Anakin into his lap. Obi-Wan was sure to stay gentle but hugged tighter, feeling Anakin in his arms, heart beating steadily against his chest. 

Anakin stayed tense for a few moments afterward, then relaxed. A beat, two, and his arms wrapped around Obi-Wan’s torso. Obi-Wan could feel Anakin’s head dig into his shoulder, little puffs of breath on his neck. The Force was calm around them. 

And in that moment, Obi-Wan Kenobi swore to himself, the Force, and whatever else might be listening that he would always protect Anakin Skywalker to the best of his ability. 

Obi-Wan knew it might have been love, attachment. 

He wasn’t sure if he cared. 

Not when he heard Anakin whisper “Thank you,” and felt pure relief through their bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one honestly makes me cry and I wrote it, like,,, dear god,,,,,,,,


	2. Freedom In Death - Marching On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s an old story of the desert, passed from parent to child and carved into our very bones. Long after the Master took the first Slave and claimed their life as his own. The Slave had been broken for a long time under the Master, and had finally accepted this as their fate. They had lost all their hope. And so they ventured deep into the Desert while their Master was away and begged Death for an escape...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a general warning for this chapter: There's some more graphic talk about death and dying in this chapter, and a little bit about slave mothers killing their children so they don't live a life of slavery. 
> 
> Just pretty angsty in general!

Anakin Skywalker knew Death. It followed him throughout his entire life. It had been a constant companion from the moment he had taken his first breath and another slave had taken their last. 

Slaves on Tatooine didn’t tend to last long. Slaves anywhere had a short lifespan, but the desert sucked the youth out of skin and the strength out of bones, leaving behind frail husks of broken beings. 

The Temple had been everything to Anakin, once he had arrived. It was a well of knowledge and power like he had never known, never been taught, all available to him now. Jedi who had never known Death but walked with Hope. Fighting for a better world and certainty in their power and abilities, the knowledge that they could Change the galaxy for the better and the Will to do it bit by bit, one action at a time. 

Living at the Temple hadn’t taken away the knowledge of the desert, but it had washed him in water and that was almost worse. 

Now, surrounded by the dead and dying bodies of his men, Anakin was reminded of the fact that Death would always follow his own. Anakin let his feet guide him to one of the few still choking on the blood in their lungs, not sure whether to fight for one more moment or give into darkness. 

Anakin knelt at the head of the clone and held him in his lap as the desert stripped away years of memory, revealing that which had been carved into him from his first moments as a slave. Anakin remembered the things his mother had taught him, things every parent taught their surviving children. A failsafe, a way to ensure that Death would always come for them no matter where they were taken. 

The Jedi were taught how to escape any scenario, how to change it to their advantage. The Masters knew of the value of Force-Sensitives to slavers, and had been sure to teach their children how to avoid and escape those situations. If they couldn’t, if a child was lost, there was the rest of the Temple who wouldn’t stop searching until every stone had been overturned. 

The Jedi always fought for their own. 

Slaves didn’t have the luxury. 

What mothers taught their children was how to die. How to bleed themselves out quickly with a scrap of metal, how to stay strong through hunger and thirst as they walked as far as they could into the desert. How to mix small, deadly plants that would cause them to drift away in their sleep. 

How to muffle their tears as they strangled their own newborns, to prevent them from living a life in slavery. 

Anakin's own mother hadn't been able to do the same for him. He'd always survived somehow, the 'Will the Force'.

There was no need for any of those alternatives here. These men would all die or be saved in minutes. But minutes of agonizing pain, of feeling yourself bleed out, of wishing that you could be saved while knowing you couldn’t, was an eternity that Anakin wouldn’t leave his men to bear. Not when he could free them from it. 

“There’s an old story of the desert, passed from parent to child and carved into our very bones,” Anakin started. “Long after the Master took the first Slave and claimed their life as his own. The Slave had been broken for a long time under the Master, and had finally accepted this as their fate.” 

While words as old as his lifeblood itself poured from his mouth, Anakin reached out in the Force to touch the clone’s heart and brain. When Anakin was younger, just going through his first aid courses, there was only one section he truly paid attention to, practicing it over and over again. He’d prayed to the Goddesses he’d never have to use it, but he practiced all the same. 

“They had lost all their hope. And so they ventured deep into the Desert while their Master was away and begged Death for an escape. _Why should I help you?_ Death asked the Slave. _You will be mine one day soon.”_

Anakin numbed the clone- shiny enough that they didn’t have paint on their armor or even a name, a child in their own right- and reached for their heart.

“The Slave replied, _Though the Desert may take my youth from my skin and the strength from my bones, my Master takes my Life from my blood and drains it, leaving me nothing in death._ And so Death was convinced, for though he was the End of all things, he was also Peace and welcomed his own home. He could not reap what had been picked at slowly, leaving no harvest. Taking some of the dust from the Desert, Death fashioned a plant that would seep the Slave’s life away in their sleep, giving them back to Death. Death spent the night teaching the Slave how to use the plant, and then sent the Slave back on the way to their Master.” 

Anakin kept his voice quiet and soothing as he concentrated. He wasn’t sure that the clone could even hear his voice, and maybe it was his imagination, but they seemed to quiet themselves and calm as Anakin continued the story. 

“But the Slave did not use the plant that night, or the night after. For the Slave knew that when their Master found them dead he would not rest until he had chosen a new slave to replace them. And so the Slave waited, until their youth and strength were gone and their Life was nearly drained, until their Master grew upset at how slow they were and found Another. Only then did the Slave take out the plant Death had given them, and taking the smallest portion, they taught the new Slave in the same way Death had taught them.”

Anakin reached out and held the clone’s heart, feeling it beat between phantom fingers. Making sure that the clone wouldn’t be able to feel anything Anakin squeezed their heart, watched their eyes close and stayed as they took their final breaths. 

“...And so the Slave died, and was buried by the Slave under the sand which saved them. They died ensuring that all their descendants would always have an escape from the Master in the desert." Anakin hesitated, wondering if he should repeat the things he’d heard the vode say to their dying brothers. " March on, brother.”

Death would eventually come to them all. Anakin might have been freed, but now how he wished that one day he would have a slave’s death. That he would pass in his sleep, unbound from his flesh as poison worked its way through his veins. 

It would be faster than what was killing him now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone please tell me if I'm using vode correctly in that last bit, I honestly have no idea

**Author's Note:**

> If there's any ideas you have for something specific, or just in general! Feel free to leave it in the comments! I have a few chapters planned but they will be very infrequent as to updates. Also, please tell me if there's any spelling errors or something that you see? I really don't read through things before I post them and I gotta work on that
> 
> You can yell at me on tumblr at [rynae-reblogs](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/rynae-reblogs)


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